


First Impressions

by cathiewu (deepbluefantasy)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Before Sunrise AU, F/M, Female Tony Stark, Modern AU, Natasha Antonia Toni Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 07:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18960751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepbluefantasy/pseuds/cathiewu
Summary: *An AU-fic inspired by the “Before Sunrise” trilogy*Female Tony! —Natasha Antonia “Toni” StarkToni met Steve on her way down from Edinburgh to London. There was chemistry almost right away. Would it last?A piece that is written partly as a fan-fic and as a sort of practice. Not a native speaker. Please bear with my language.Everything will unfold very slowly (because I write in a presumptuously sluggish manner).





	First Impressions

 

Save when she was out of the States Toni literally went everywhere in a car or something similar of sorts. She usually drove her own daring, orange Audi R8 V10 Plus when the occasion was right—and as it turned out, they were most of the times **_right_** _—_ or reluctantly adopted the choice of getting Happy drive her around in a dull, shiny-black Rolls-Royce Phantom when Pepper insisted hysterically that **_so she must,_** promising an immediate melt-down following any sign of uncooperativeness on her side (and she would flatter herself that being intractable was only one of the most harmless and ignorable of her many foibles). On this occasion she therefore realized, as she found herself rocked by the monotonous clickity-clack of the rails, interspersed with a creaking screech of the wheels every now and then where there was a curve or a brake or a bump, how quintessentially “modern” an invention the car is—and by “modern” of course she meant it as a synonym with herself, with Toni Stark, for Stark is indeed the _very_ word for the future—how the interior of a car can be decked in the most Toni-ish, flamboyant, and cutting-edge way possible, allowing her to continue meddling with her designs with sips of champagne while keeping an eye on the algorithmic trading platforms—how the car in this sense engirdles her vulnerable self and fences off _bona fide_ the antagonizing exterior, effectively becoming an integral link on and extension of her office, her workshop, her world, her _self_. Yes, in hindsight, it is all this privacy and isolation that really matters, privacy, privacy, privacy, for it is not simply a car, but **_a car of one’s own_** that is the acme of modern life, of Toni’s life, and she never missed it more than she did at this moment—when a raging couple sitting next to her seemed determined to make a show of themselves by practically exposing their miserable marriage life to the whole carriage—and all this! Toni thought to herself, all this! while she was actually making an effort to imbibe those tedious memos on her Starkpad for the award ceremony tomorrow in London that Pepper had just mailed in minutes before. 

_Toni, make sure you mention our stock performance—_

“Kennst du dies aber nicht auswendig?”

“Ich wird dich nicht interessieren aber steht hier etwas über dich in der Zeitung. 70,000 Frauen sind dem Alkohol verfallen. Du bist einer davon.”

The woman scoffed. “Das bin ich aber überhaupt nicht. Wenn der jemand dem Alkohol verfallen ist, dann bist du sicher…schaust doch in einer Spiegel…”

_and do not let those scoopers get to you when you—_

“Bei mir hatte es einen Grund. Ich bin mit dir verheiratet.”

_—when you leave for the press room. Happy will know what to—_

“…könntest du nicht die Zeitung endlich wegnehmen und mir zuhören?” Now it was obvious that the woman was in a temper. Toni wondered if she was “on her period” (though for her the right word should be menstruation), or “haben ihre Tage”, in German. With an ear-splitting snap she snatched the newspaper from her husband, who, up until then, had been the relatively phlegmatic of the two, and he, returning the compliment, was only all-too-obviously sparked off.

Toni breathed deep and went all the way out not to roll her eyes or spit out some very improper names, names that she coined for almost everyone who happened to cross her way, affectionate names, derogatory names, or simply names for fun. How was she supposed to react in this part of the world? Toni, admittedly, had never been at all comfortable with the British people, the land, the culture, everything. They all seemed so stiffened—and tense—they even say you could recognize a Brit by the stiff upper lip. Was telling the couple to “shut-up and respect others” rude? Or was simply standing up and getting away even more improper? Either way, Toni had absolutely no intention to expose herself as the crude, unsophisticated American chick. She was young, successful, one of the most brilliant minds in the world—she could live with it—she would cope with it—and she needed to focus on her work at hand. 

_Happy will know what to do. Just follow him and answer no questions. We do not want last month’s Las Vegas Vanity Fair piece again—_

And she failed. The man simply let his voice rise like a marching trumpet and the couple seemed all caught up in their own discontents. “…seit 15 jähren. Könntest du nicht dir gefallen tun um mich endlich in Ruhe lassen!”

“Ich lass’ dich so gerne in Ruhe wenn du mich in Ruhe lässt. Ich habe einen wunderbaren Vorschlag: du ziehst zu deiner Mutter und kannst alle deine Kochtücher mitnehmen.”

“Dein wunderbarer Vorschlag! Mit dem aber unterbrächest du mir ungefähr zwei mal in einem Monat!”

That was it. Toni thought. She was moving. To her disappointment, she found that the couple was not embarrassed for themselves at all as she stood up to grab her overnighter, thrusted her Starkpad into the already overloaded beige giant and strode pass them as reproachfully as possible. They were still arguing behind her.

“War das jetzt wirklich notwendig? War das notwendig?! Geh zu…Geh zudeine Mutter zurück. Ich kann es nicht mehr hören. Immer das gleich…”

“…das ist so langweilig.”

“Ja, du bist langweilig…”

Their voices dimmed. It seemed that the woman finally decided to give herself some air and stormed out of the carriage, followed by an equally fuming husband. Toni found an empty row of seat nearing the other end and shoved herself onto it. As she sat down, turning to her overnighter on the right and fumbled for her Starkpad, she realized that she was not alone after all—there was also a young man, probably of her own age (that is, in the early twenties), with the fairest blond hair and bluest eyes she had ever seen, across the aisle. He had something like a sketch pad and a pencil in his hand, and as her eyes met his, she realized that he was eyeing her rather intently but not in the least disagreeable to her. The next moment, as if in reply to her notice, he smiled at her. It was a smile that was at the same time gracefully timid but strangely engaging, and, Toni thought to herself, thank god he did not have a stiff upper lip.


End file.
